My short-story/poem ‘The Trick-or-Treaters’

the-trick-or-treaters
Just before the sun went down
on October 31st,
on the evening of Halloween,
two brothers, Isaac and Reece,
and their little-sister, Hailie,
left their house to go walking up their street
to go knocking on the doors of their neighbours
and to say in one voice the phrase of the hour:
“trick-or treat”.
Every year, on Halloween, these three siblings
loved getting dressed up from head-to-toe
in costumes of their own choosing –
and this year, like every year,
Hailie was a “ghost”, Reece was a “Vampire”,
and Isaac was a “werewolf”,
and every year when they got home from “trick-or-treating”
they always returned with more candy
than they knew what to do with…
going door-to-door with one-another
was a tradition that these three loved reenacting –
come clouds and rain, or under clear sky and moon-shine;
however, they only went up the street and back again,
and since they lived in a cul-de-sac
the sooner that their trick-or-treating began
in no time at all it soon came to a sad end for another year.

Every year it was all treats and no tricks-
but, since this year there was a new neighbour
that had moved into their road,
Reece in particular hoped that maybe this year
they might return home with more
than just a bag full of sweets.

The new neighbours lived in the house
at the end of the road, up a driveway,
where a lady used to live
who had more cats than could ever be counted –
but who had sadly passed-away;
Reece, Isaac, and Hailie, did not know
the late-lady well, only her name:
“Mrs. Leech” – however, word got around
and it was thought that now
her sister had taken on her house
following Mrs. Leech’s passing,
and her name was apparently: “Ms. Beetle” –
“like the car, and not the British band”,
the mailman had recently pointed out.

It was Halloween again,
and Hailie, Reece, and Isaac
had knocked on every door of their street – but one –
and all three were carrying a considerable
amount of treats to return home with;
however, they had not yet visited Ms. Beetle’s house,
which they had left until last on purpose.

The walk up the driveway to Ms. Beetle’s house
at the bottom of the street was done slowly –
and as soon as the trio of siblings walked up
onto the wooden porch of Ms. Beetle’s house,
and they knocked on the front-door,
neither one of them knew what to expect –
however, they certainly didn’t expect
the door to open seemingly on its own,
and they most certainly didn’t expect to see
Ms. Beetle dressed all in black
mixing away at a giant cauldron-shaped
black container with bubbles and gases
jetting up from the green mixture…
and they most certainly, definitely,
did not expect Ms. Beetle to look
at all three of them and say:
“so, what will it be? Trick or treat?”
Ms. Beetle then began to cackle at the top of her lungs –
and that was when all three of the kids screamed,
then turned around, and jumped off
of Ms. Beetle’s porch, and they ran
all the way up the street and all the way home,
leaving behind all their treats
that they had collected from the night.

The next day, their was a knock at the door
of Hailie, Reece, and Isaac’s house –
and when their Mom answered the door
Ms. Beetle was standing there on the other side
and smiling from ear-to-ear
and holding out in front of her
the three bags of candy that the kids had left behind.
Ms. Beetle apologized for the night before,
and she gave the kids their bags of candy
and she told them that she was pleased to meet them,
and that this year she gave them both a trick and a treat –
but she also said that there was no telling
what she was going to do next year,
and the only way they would know
would be if they were brave enough
to come knocking on her door again,
and all ask her: “trick-or-treat”?

My Poem ‘Background Artist’

I am in the foreground of every landscape…
I am in the background of every picture…
I am in the orchestra that plays
the music of the spheres throughout interstellar-space…
I am interwoven into the language of the universe –
and yet too few ever see me…
not everyone knows how to look me in the eye…
not everyone can read the true meaning of my poetry…
no one knows what I have seen,
where I have been,
and what I have done already in my life.

There is only so much you can say with words…
there is only so many colours of a palette to paint with…
there is only so many moments in this world…
there is only so much you can give –
unless you know what to say and how to say it,
and you are in one of the places in the world
where language becomes as transformative as magic…
timing is everything – however,
if you know what, where, and how to say,
see, hear, and feel everything,
then you can realize anything into being.

A thing’s most defining feature lies just out of sight…
life’s most hidden mysteries
are only a blink away from being seen…
the content of a person’s heart and their soul
echoes around them and casts a shadow behind them
when they are standing in front of a bright light…
a dream can be a reality, just as reality can be a dream.

Doors rarely open for long…
opportunities sometimes only knock once…
bursts of inspiration can be so short…
time does not wait for us to catch up to it…
the world turns without pause –
but if we can find a place of peace and belonging
wherever we are, then we can never be lost…
there is something to be found, even in an empty room…
if we just learn to hold on to hope
and use what power and energy is has
then things have a way of jumping out at us,
like a baby deer running through a forest…
what you see is just one dimension of the whole…
just behind who and what you see,
I am standing there, looking, smiling,
imagining, writing, inspiring from afar…
I am constantly seen, and then missed –
but I am always where I am supposed to be,
doing what I was born to do:
an optimistic, poetic, omnipresent,
background artist.

My Poem ‘My Prayer’

When you want to do
something for someone
whom you love, but you can’t –
you can be made to feel powerless…
when someone whom you love
more than anything is in pain,
you can feel so unbelievably out of touch…
when you want to help someone
in any way that you can,
but whatever you do
could never be enough –
we, I fall to my knees
and I hold my hands together
and I pray to God…
I pray that those whom I love
will be healed and have their pain taken away –
I speak out-loud and I think of the one
who I will give all my hope,
and I promise to be there for them
when they feel at their lowest
and their most lost…
it’s agony to watch…
it’s hard to see…
it’s something that I would not wish
on my worst-enemy:
the sight, the image, the reality,
of somebody for whom
you would do anything for
struggling to speak
and feeling as if they
might at any moment collapse to the floor…
Why must this happen, God?
Why put someone through something so torturous?
Why cannot your angels help
those in need – is it truly necessary
for those in pain to ask?
Our time on Earth is precious,
and we all have choices to make –
but when we are struck-down
by something suddenly and painfully
we do not get a choice in that…
everybody whom I have known
to have given so much
throughout their life
are those who are hurting the most…
If I could be anybody,
if I could do anything,
I would choose to be a healer of people –
so that I could revitalise a person’s life
and remake them anew…
there is no reason for anybody
to suffer needlessly…
I pray to God that my loved-ones
will one day live a life
in peace and free of pain…
is it too much to ask
that those whom I love
may live without fear and be happy?
Please, God – I beg you…
we all need your healing love right now,
now more than ever…
life is a beautiful gift,
and to me it should not be wasted
on those who think that everything is a game…
Dear God, please heal those whom I love –
I would give anything, I would do anything…
this I promise, this I pray.

My Poem ‘Catching my breath’

The world is a crazy place,
sometimes I wish I could
transport myself high-above
and see the world
as an astronaut in orbit does –
beautiful and glowing green and blue
against the black backdrop of space…
sometimes, especially in a busy city,
it is hard to find an oasis of peace –
somewhere to go to get away
from the constant bombardment of sound,
somewhere wide-open:
like a park, or a forest of trees,
that you can walk through,
where you can smile to yourself
and close your eyes at the miracle
of being able to take your ease…
sometimes you just want to sit back and relax
and let the minutes and the hours stretch out
until you can’t tell them apart…
sometimes just owning a moment,
and swimming out into a metaphorical
subconscious-ocean, is just what you need –
you could simply just get your feet wet
by imagining you are sitting on a wooden boat-dock
and looking down at your own reflection in the rippling water,
or perhaps diving down to see
the coral-reef of your imagination
and then resurfacing with your head above water again
and realizing that you have traveled far.

We all need that place…
we all need that world within our world…
we all need to travel in different ways…
we all need a language that we know and understand:
art, music, sound, touch, a look, a smile –
finding the right words to say at the right time
is like completing a cosmic word-search.

We are all lighthouses guiding the way…
we are all sunrises and sunsets
to significant other people in a myriad of ways…
we are all messages in bottles
riding the world’s waves…
we are all looking at someone
and are being looked back on
by someone with a different face –
we are all both the observer
and the observed, you could say.

Inspiration does not always flow
as easily as water from a tap…
you could sit down and want something
to come to you and there is nothing there…
and then… zap! you get struck by something,
like a bolt of lightning,
and your eyes widen, your heart races,
and you create and you make something
that did not exist before,
and the energy and the art flows,
and you take a journey with it
all the way until it is something to you
that you would think of as if it were a new friend –
that is when you stop and you sit back
and you find and you finally feel
your heart-beats start to slow,
and you smile with joy,
as you put your hand up to your chest,
as you catch your breath.

My Poem ‘The Ghost Train’

Ever wonder how ghosts get around?
Ever wonder how ghosts travel from town to town,
when they are not hanging around in cemeteries
or scaring people as they haunt a particular house?
Some ghost are haunt-o-holics,
some ghosts just can’t move on –
but there are some ghosts
who like to get out-and-about
and who like to go to other places – hey, why not?
It’s not as if ghosts need to wait in-line or buy a ticket?
While some ghosts are essentially agoraphobic, you could say,
and don’t like going anywhere
and would much rather just stay at home –
there are some ghosts, however,
who don’t want to rest in peace for too long
before wanting to make a break for it
and see the rest of the world.

There is a “train” for the dearly-departed
who choose to stay on Earth
when they are given their choice
to either pass-on or stay right where they are;
there is a train that is the fastest in the universe
that runs 24-hours a day, all-year-round,
to every corner of the planet,
that is the quietest form of transport ever envisioned –
this train is so underground
it doesn’t even make a sound.

Ghosts have a lot of time on their hands;
ghosts still like doing what they loved
to do when they were alive –
ghost may be dead,
but that doesn’t mean
they can’t make plans.
Ghosts know more than anyone
how short life for the living really is…
some people die and become ghosts
and instantly get bitten by the “travel-bug”
and in no time at all become tourist-spirits.

Getting on the “Ghost Train”
is no problem for the no-longer-living;
if you know how to board the “Ghost Train”
then you can get on whenever and wherever you are –
all the world is the “Ghost Train’s” station;
there is no place that the “Ghost Train” will not stop,
and there is no limit to the number of passengers
it is capable of transporting –
to those do not know about the “Ghost Train”
at first it can seem like an absolute sensation.

There are many things that the living cannot explain;
there is knowledge and there are answers to questions
that those who are still breathing
are not able to understand
because they have too much
clogging-up their already over-active brains.

There is something that travels farther than a plane,
along rails that could be thought of
as if they were some kind of speed-of-thought fast-lane…
there is a way to get from anywhere to anywhere on Earth
for ghosts, and for all intents and purposes
it is aptly called by those who ride it:
“The Ghost Train”.

My Poem ‘Where do you go?’

Where do you go
in a moment of silence?
Where do you go
to find yourself?
Where do you go
when people see you
looking off into space?
Where do you go
to feel safe and sound?

To some people, music is a place –
a world which they visit every day
that makes them happy
and which inspires them to create
a work of art that becomes so real to them
that can no longer be bound
solely within their mind;
to some people, their imagination
is like an ocean of fantastic
and mysterious discoveries
to be found every time they choose to dive;
to some people, everything that they see
is like a strand of inspiration
which they cannot help themselves
from pulling and seeing what follows;
to some people, it is a castle,
it is a kingdom, it is a reality,
it is a place built by them,
but influenced by many different things
that they retreat to –
and sometimes what is going on
on the outside, in someone’s life,
has a dramatic bearing
on the destination and the colour-palette
of the place within where they go.

Some people revisit the past…
some people imagine the future…
some people slow down their life
as the world around them races by too fast…
some people hold-on to hope with all that they have,
while others worry too much
and are incarcerated and paralyzed by their fears.

To day-dream is an amazing thing;
to be preoccupied by something on your mind is natural;
to realize a dream-come-true
sometimes you have to let your guard down
and lower your defenses so that your voice can sing;
to overcome something, which to you at the time
feels impossible, is incredible –
our limitations are ussually those of our own making,
and to truly turn your life around and be content
you have to sometimes drown-out the voices of doubt
and paint the picture that you want to see.

Walking through nature
is a great way to open doors in your mind
to new and undiscovered frontiers
that are just waiting to be created and unveiled;
when your attention is completely focused on something
it is like being on a one-way highway
with no way to go but straight-ahead;
saving some time for what you love
and for what makes you smile,
no matter what other people may say or think,
is more important than you could know;
everybody must have a sanctuary…
everybody must have a place of peace…
doing something, doing nothing in particular…
everybody must take a moment of time,
make it last, and make the most of it –
because time is as unique
and precious as a snowflake…
so, my question to you is:
where do you go?

My Poem ‘Torchbearer’

I don’t know where it came from…
I don’t know where it began…
I don’t know if it was passed on
to me by my Mum or my Dad –
but I know that I am
the beholder of a fire,
a spark, a light, an energy,
that brought about the creation
of the universe and life-itself…
I feel it constantly burning in my chest…
I see it every night when it illuminates my dreams…
I hear it every morning when I wake up in bed…
I know what it is and I know what it means.

I have known of this internal fire for a while…
I have been driven by this incredible torch
since I saw its rise…
I have tried to describe it
and write poetry about it before,
and every time I do just knowing
that it still burns bright and wild within me
always makes me smile.

I am sure that more than one person
in my life has seen my light
sparkling in the blue and the sometimes green
irises of my eyes –
I see it too when I look in a mirror,
and I know that no matter what happens to me
and where I may end my days
that the light of me
will touch and inspire another
and another and another,
and when humanity finally makes itself
another home on another planet
orbiting another star
that same flame will help fulfill
the destiny of a countless number of people
in an infinite number of ways.

It is a comfort to me
to believe and to know
that I will never truly die…
it is hard to put into words
something that I know instinctively is a part of me,
but also a part of a continuum
that transcends both space and time…
it is why I was born…
it is why I am here…
it is why when I look up at the sky
I believe that I can fly…
and I am not the only one
here on Earth blessed with a gift
to be a beacon of the universe’s divine light –
we are everywhere…
and I never take the fire of my birthright for granted,
and I am honored to be one
of a universe full of torchbearers.

My Poem ‘When the sun goes down’

When the sun goes down
on Halloween night,
when the werewolves howl
and the vampire take a bite,
when people walk the streets
dressed as clowns,
when trick or treats
are solicited and given out,
when ghosts haunt and the dead walk,
when costumed children
can be seen going door-to-door,
when the sky looks darker
than you ever thought it could,
when it is normal to dress
and express yourself
in a way that you may not
feel comfortable doing
at any other time of the year –
Halloween can be incredibly fun,
as well as the most perfect time
to face your inner-most fears.

When the sun goes down
and the moon is full,
when the stars are bright,
the universe that we are a part of
has never looked more beautiful,
when you see the spectacular
ribbons of energy of the Northern Lights
illuminate the sky,
the sight that you see takes your breath away –
there is no more magical and spellbinding
event to see that you will remember
for the rest of your life.

When the sun goes down
and another world awakens,
secret doors open wide
that lead to other dimensions…
the invisible becomes visible,
the imaginary becomes real,
the mysterious becomes audible,
the seemingly intangible
you can reach out and feel.

When the sun goes down
we are different people,
our faces are the same
as they are in the hours of daylight –
but more often than not
we show a part of ourselves
that no one else sees…
and at times of the year,
like Halloween,
when imagination knows no bounds,
you can always be sure
to see things that you have never seen –
especially when the sun goes down.

My Poem ‘Cherish the Light’

Light is a gift…
light is a beacon…
light is the life that we live…
light is a signal…
light is what paints the colours
and the hues of nature’s seasons…
light is what everything rises towards…
light is what highlights the beautiful…
light is the source
of what is constantly driving
every one of us forwards.

A life without light
is a very dark place indeed;
a night-sky without stars shining in it
is like a life without love – incomplete;
a life spent without artificial illumination
is one that truly understands the importance
of the sun and the moon to all our lives;
a child born in the glow of fire-light
who does not think to take it for granted
knows that light is the most important miracle
known to the entire universe,
and that the greatest repeating spectacle
that anyone can witness in life
with their eyes is the epic, silent,
beautiful, breath-taking,
ascension of the sun
at the moment of a sunrise.

It is almost heart-breaking to watch the sunset
and to see the world around you fall dark;
it is amazing to look up at the sky at night
and see an almost-infinite number of stars
beckoning and telling their silent stories
of space and time, distance and journey, life and death;
it is sad to think that because light and life is so precious
that it can so easily be taken away
as quick as extinguishing the life of a spark;
it is every living-thing on Earth’s right
to have a light to live by and gather-around –
light can be found on the outside,
however within our own mind and heart
there lies a light that is more important
to keep alive and burning bright until your last breath.

Cherish the world…
cherish people…
cherish the magical…
cherish love…
cherish the sun…
cherish life…
cherish imagination…
cherish the light.

My Poem ‘The Wolf of Winter’

There is a bite in the air…
the cold wind touches my skin
and sends a shiver down my spine…
the Wolf of Winter is awakening
and leaving its lair…
the Summer months were long
and they were warm –
but, now the howl of the wild
is heralding the re-emergence
and the fresh hunt of what thrives
during the season of Winter-time.

I know this animal very well…
I have been pursued
by the beast of white many times…
I have learned to protect myself
from the force of nature
that can literally get beneath your skin
and chill you to the bone…
I know of people who did not fend-off
the big bad wolf as they were always taught to
and whose spirit unfortunately left their body
as it was overwhelmed and froze them to death
in the place where they lay –
the Wolf of Winter is unrelenting
and has taken many lives;
even as the sun rises on a beautiful golden morning,
the Wolf of Winter walks among us,
and sometimes follows us all the way home.

One of the ways to stave off an attack
from the Wolf of Winter is to keep moving
and to not stay in one place too long –
unless you have a house of thick walls to retreat to
and an unlimited resource of heat;
the Wolf of Winter is just finding their feet
after a period of prolonged slumber –
however, already the Wolf
has caught certain people’s scent
and they are like fresh meat;
the Wolf of Winter can be in many places at-once –
in a snow-covered forest in Switzerland,
on a freezing London street,
atop a mountain in New Zealand;
the Wolf of Winter, like every predator
is both a superior pack-animal
as well as an impressive lone-hunter –
which is why the Wolf of Winter
has lived and endured for as long as it has
and has capably stalked the vast terrain of many lands.

Many fear the Wolf of Winter;
many know the Wolf of Winter is close by
by something as seemingly commonplace as a sneeze;
nobody can truly escape the bitter Alpha -carnivore
who takes their time in deciding
who or what they want to have for dinner;
you can sense the mythical creature of ice
whenever you feel a chill on the Winter breeze;
in a confrontation that happens often
it is not always the same winner who prevails –
you can never truly get the better of a force of nature,
but in my experience if there is one creature
that you should never underestimate
it is the indomitable Wolf of Winter.